


Jason Bourne Can Suck it!

by Fanhag102



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Hulkeye - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanhag102/pseuds/Fanhag102
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint doesn't do commitment and he and Bruce have an argument.<br/>Clint takes a last minute mission to take his mind off things, but the mission winds up making him face the very thing he was trying to avoid. </p><p>Betty is just unlucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jason Bourne Can Suck it!

**Author's Note:**

> I'll give you one guess as to which recent movie this fic was inspired by.  
> Seriously. You get ONE guess.
> 
> Teen rating only for Clint's potty mouth.

It was about twenty degrees below freezing, the wind causing it to feel at least forty. Clint was wearing his SnowHawk gear; arms covered but sleeves loose enough to still be able to comfortably shoot arrows. It was made of white and grey fabrics instead of black, with lilac purple accents in place of the usual deep violet. The altitude was about 12000 feet, but that didn’t bother Clint nearly as much as the cold. Snow and ice froze on his clothes as he trekked silently through the sparse forest. The snow was almost to his knees and he had never before been more grateful to own insulated pants.

He walked another mile or so upwards, gaining another couple hundred feet of elevation. He paused, turning back to survey the slope he’d just climbed through his dark sunglasses. From his pocket he pulled a slim device and frowned at it as he held it up to read. The device was supposed to lead him to the rendezvous point but thus far it had mostly served to lead him to blockages and dead ends. As it was, he was running a bit late because of the detour he’d decided to take around a section of the mountain that looked in danger of avalanching. The device hadn’t been pleased when he’d gone around instead of up the incline like it had displayed and flickered for a few minutes before adjusting to the new route. Clint didn’t think the high altitude agreed with it. He wished they would have just given him Starktech instead of crappy SHIELD gadgets; no matter how much he hated to admit it, Starktech was the highest quality you could find and it never failed him.

He sighed unhappily, returned the electronic map to his pocket, and trudged on.

Clint had only been in the Swiss mountains for approximately seven hours and he was already fed up with the harsh climate. His fingers were stiff from cold and he was loathed to think how it would feel to draw back his bow in this weather. He absentmindedly reached and grasped at the bow and quiver strapped to his back, drawing comfort from the feel of his familiar tools.

He continued hiking up and the trees grew even scarcer, replaced by snow-covered rocks and ice that Clint eye wearily as he surveyed the safest spot to start climbing to the tip of the mountain. Clint barely needed the device telling him where to go; it was clear from the topographical map that he was supposed to reach the top and wait there for the drop-off. He stopped thinking about SHIELD’s incompetency and his frozen fingers and focused completely on scaling the suddenly steep cliff face. After a few minutes he was thoroughly engrossed in the task, mind thoroughly unable to wander places he didn’t want it to. 

It was nice. He knew it had been a good idea to take this mission, even if it meant he’d be freezing his ass off for this part of it. The more he climbed the more his blood started pumping. He had to pull his jacket down past his chin when his breathing increased so he could get more air. He concentrated on the little burst of breath and the icy rocks in front of him. His mood, which had been a little more than sour when his mission began, lifted as he increased in altitude, the challenge of climbing to the top erasing all other matters from his mind—at least for a little while. 

After another hour or so of hard-core climbing Clint reached the top. He took out his map to confirm then sat against a rock and waited for the delivery. Because of his detour earlier he didn’t have to wait long. He had just taken out a granola bar when he heard the hum of an approaching plane. He squinted up at the white in the direction his ears told him the plane would be flying in from. Even with his 20/20 vision, it still took a few minutes for Clint to pick out the tiny, pure-white plane as it drew closer. He sighed and returned his granola to his pocket just as the plane flew near enough over his head to drop a small parachute directly down to him. 

It drifted down and Clint caught it with ease, despite the chill creeping back into his gloved fingers. He ripped the parachute off of the small, metal canister that he assumed contained the rest of the mission details and twisted the top until it popped off. Inside was a crisply rolled sheet of paper. He took it out, unrolled it and read the typed message detailing further instructions for him to follow.

The howling wind carried his echoing voice away from the tip of the snowy mountain as he shoved the paper back inside the canister and growled in irritation,

“ _Fucking SHIELD_.”

 

 

* * *

 

  

Bruce stomped down the stairs of the Tower, feet clunking and echoing off the walls with the force of each of his steps. Bruce usually paid more attention to his footsteps; treading more lightly and with less emotion—but that was other days. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stared into the empty hallway that led to the kitchen, dining room, and living area. With a heavy sigh and a frown he started down the hall, footsteps still heavy to symbolize his heavy mood.

“Clint!” He called down the hall, voice tired. “We need to talk!”

Silence answered him and he sighed again, stepping into the kitchen and preparing a long, reprimanding speech in his head, only to close his mouth the moment he realized the kitchen was completely empty. Frowning, he poked his head into the living and dining room, making sure to look for all of the little high-up places Clint sometimes liked to inhabit—only to find that he was still alone. 

Unease slipped into his stomach like a bad meal; this was the last place he’d looked for Clint and he had really expected him to be here somewhere. He wasn’t on the roof or in his room or in the training room. Thor hadn’t seen him and Steve hadn’t seen him, and sometimes Clint had a habit of practically living in the kitchen and living room. He would always be there whenever Bruce was making food, or Thor and Tony were playing video games, or Steve and Natasha were playing cards at the living room table. Sometimes he would be there all on his own and Bruce would walk in to find him sitting at the kitchen counter reading the newspaper or a mission report while munching on whatever snacks he could find in the cabinets. The idea that he wasn’t there this time—nor in any other place Bruce had looked around the Tower—was disconcerting.

He heard someone coming up the stairs and hurried around the corner to see Tony, looking tired but pleased, clearly just coming up from a stint down in the workshop. He’d told Bruce a little while ago that he was welcome to join him if he wanted, but Bruce hadn’t been in the best mood.

“Heya, Bruce—“

“Tony, have you seen Clint?” Bruce asked, wringing his hands. Tony stopped abruptly, taken by surprise by being cut off and Bruce’s insistent question.

“Uh,” he said, and Bruce could practically see the gears turning in his head. Sometimes Tony’s brain got pretty fried after running on full power for too long. Bruce was already too stressed to bother feeling bad about cutting Tony off. He needed to find Clint. Nothing mattered until he did.

“No,” Tony said finally and his brain seemed to kick back in as he headed towards the kitchen and asked, “Did you try texting him?” 

“I’m not an idiot, of course I did!” Bruce snapped, and Tony raised an eyebrow, suddenly realizing the seriousness of the situation. “I even called him. Four times. And I called SHIELD; they said he wasn’t there. I tried Natasha too—“

“Bruce, she’s on a mission, you can’t call her—“

“—she didn’t answer either so I tried calling Coulson and he didn’t answer, so I just thought Clint must be here somewhere, so I looked and asked everyone and he isn’t anywhere and I need to talk to him so you have to help me find him.”

Bruce began talking very fast near the end and Tony took an involuntary step back considering he could hear the faint beeping of Bruce’s heart monitor. Bruce froze as soon as he heard it too and began taking deep breaths, hand firmly on his chest until the beeping stopped and he looked at Tony, not seeming all that phased, and repeated,

“Can you help me find him, Tony?”

“I think I probably should, lest we have an incident and I have to buy you new clothes again.” He paused momentarily to stare at Bruce, just to double check that he wasn’t in danger of going green, then his eye focused on the task at hand—if Bruce needed to find Clint, he would find Clint. “First, let’s try something simple. JARVIS, scan the Tower for Clint’s bio signature.”

“I would be happy to, Sir.” It was quiet for about twenty seconds and Bruce started wringing his hands again. Tony had never seen him so twitchy; he was usually the calmest Avenger in the Tower, always reading a book and drinking tea while the others were fretting about their various issues. Something was clearly amiss if he was this panicked.

“No trace of Agent Barton’s bio signature in the vicinity of the Avengers Tower. My apologies, Doctor Banner.” 

“Dammit,” Bruce cursed.

“Okay, that’s out,” Tony said, already heading towards his workshop, all earlier fatigue vanishing faster than Steve’s wounds heal. “Follow me, Bruce. We’ll find Hawkass or my name isn’t Tony Fucking Stark.” 

Bruce nodded, following Tony down into his workshop letting himself believe Tony. This was going to be a battle of wits. Clint was one person who was almost impossible to find if he didn’t want to be found, but he was Bruce Banner and was being helped by Tony Stark and his various genius, billionaire assets. Clint would have to be pretty far off the map for them not to find him.

 

 

* * *

 

Clint was officially sick of his stupid electronic map. As he was following it, making his way down the other side of the mountain it decided to shut completely off for about half an hour, leaving him to wander blindly amidst the trees and snow that was falling harder every minute. He’d eaten all his granola bars and was nearly out of water.

He had expected to be on his actual mission by now, not still tromping through the frozen wasteland like some thrill-seeking hiker. Clint’s life had enough thrills, thank-you-very-much.

Not to mention that he was being followed. 

It was noticeable about ten minutes after he started making his way down the mountain and not even the snowstorm that had picked up not long after could cover his follower’s idiotically obvious tracks. There were seven of them and they clearly weren’t professionals; wild animals could track making less noise. When he first noticed them Clint used the advanced features of his map to get farther ahead of them and he’d managed to gain about a mile and a half lead. He figured he could probably lose them completely if he actually tried but he was hungry and cold and just wanted to get to where he was going. He’d deal with it then.

When the map flickered back to life he was pleased to see that he was relatively close to his new coordinates, the ones that had been written on the sheet of paper that had been dropped down to him. He didn’t exactly know what awaited him at those coordinates but he optimistically hoped for the best. At least a warm cup of coffee and a place to sit for a second would be nice. 

He never got the fun missions; seducing idiot billionaires like Tony Stark or infiltrating top-secret security buildings to retrieve vital codes. No, he was always stuck out in the frozen middle of nowhere, or, if he was lucky, the blistering hot middle of nowhere. He wasn’t really complaining, because he still liked the job he had now a whole damn lot better than his old one, but when he had to duck out of the way of a falling mound of snow, sitting up in a cherry-picker in the pouring rain didn’t seem so bad.

About a mile out from the coordinates and he dropped his pack and climbed the nearest tree to get a better view of what he might possibly be heading towards, and saw a tiny little cabin sitting in a small clearing at the bottom of the hill he was on. There was someone in the window and Clint smirked, glad (not for the first time) that he had the eyes of a hawk. He turned around to look behind him and although he didn’t see his followers, he could see traces of them about a mile back. He rolled his eyes as they disturbed the snow on top of trees—no one who was trained well would ever do something that stupidly obvious.

He shimmied back down, grabbed his pack and started walking quicker. The snow was icy and slick but he was sure-footed and knew where he was going. It didn’t take long for the cabin he’d seen to come into view again. He slowed his gait, pulling his jacket down over his nose to uncover his mouth. The slope surrounding the cabin was littered with tall pines with thick trunks, and it was from behind one of these that came the patronizing voice of the person Clint had seen in the window of the cabin earlier. 

“I know you noticed me. Why didn’t you say anything?”

 “I was trying to be polite,” Clint replied, turning and smirking as Natasha stepped behind the tree trunk, stowing her gun as she strode towards him, smiling fondly. She was wearing her SnowWidow outfit, but it wasn’t nearly as similar to her regular suit as Clint’s was. It was pure white, as tight as it could be for snow gear, had fur trim and her signature Black Widow belt slung low around her waist. Her vibrant red hair was hidden away under a snow-white hat and the cold had her face flushing to reveal her Russian background.

 Natasha fit much better in the icy environment than he did; she almost looked at home as she led him down the rest of the way to the cabin. They didn’t say anything else until they were inside and she removed her hat and jacket. Clint moved over to the small oven before even removing his pack and rubbed his hands together as Natasha rolled her eyes behind his back. 

“I didn’t think you were gonna be my contact, Tasha. Oh my god, coffee, I love you.”

 He took the mug she offered him, bringing it up to his face to let the steam warm his frozen skin before taking a slow sip. She leaned against the table in the middle of the cabin’s main room with her own cup and replied,

 “I didn’t either, but I was already in the area so they figured it would be more convenient. You know how cheap SHIELD can be—why send another agent out when they’ve already got one?”

He glared, finally removing his pack and sitting down at the table where she joined him a moment later. 

“Don’t get me started on SHIELD’s bullshit, okay. Do you know they made me climb this entire mountain— _the entire fucking mountain—_ just to get the coordinates for this place?”

“You’re surprised?” she asked, pursing her lips and taking another sip of coffee.

“No,” he replied begrudgingly. “I’m just saying it’s unnecessary.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, staring at him over her cup. He fidgeted in his seat and suddenly realized that although it was a nice surprise to see Tasha instead of some surly dude in a suit, there were some things about this mission he wasn’t sure he wanted her to know. “I only got the call about this mission this morning… You don’t usually take last-minute missions, Clint.” 

“Yeah, well,” he said brusquely, “this time I did.”

 She kept staring at him with faint and unnerving grin.

“Bruce called. Several times, actually. He left me some messages. Seems like he’s looking for you.”

Clint didn’t dignify that with a response.

“He was using Tony’s phone for some reason but—“

She stopped before finishing and every muscle in her body tensed. Clint sensed it the same moment she did and slowly brought his mug to his lips without taking a drink, and said conversationally,

 “The last time we were here we fried seven eggs.”

 He caught the understanding glimmer in her eyes as she recognized the old code, slipped her gun from its holder on her thigh, and replied,

 “As I recall, they were poached.” 

Without even standing from the table she shot once at the window, twice at the roof, once at the door and three times at the floor. Clint had to duck for the one at the window and glared at her when he sat back up. A second passed and then they heard the sounds of several bodies falling into the snow. Natasha stood, expression suddenly serious.

“Enough gossip, you need to go. You’ve got to be in Switzerland by 0700 hours.” 

“ _Switzerland_!” He exclaimed as she took his mug from him and handed him a tube similar to the one that had been dropped to him earlier. “How the hell am I supposed to get there in time?” 

“You’re taking the Hawk.”

His entire face lit up with excitement.

“No way! _No way_! You guys never let me take the Hawk!”

“Because you _crashed_ —“

“ _It was one time!_ And, wait, seriously, I’m taking it?”

“If you want to get there on time. Come on, it’s out back.”

The Hawk was a small, single-passenger plane painted like Clint’s namesake. It was small and fast and sexy and would definitely get him to Switzerland in time—and in _style_.

“You can read over your mission details on the way,” Natasha said as Clint started up the plane’s engine. There was something funny in her face that Clint didn’t like seeing but he felt it safer not to ask. She’d already come far too close to making him talk about what he was trying to avoid earlier and he didn’t want that to happen again. 

“Later, Tasha. Don’t die.”

“Yeah, you try not to die either. Enjoy your mission, Clint.”

 

She was definitely grinning about something now and Clint took off into the sky with a stomach slowly filling with curious sense of dread.

 

* * *

 

 

The phone hit the wall with a dazzling explosion of glass, metal, and plastic. Tony took a step back from a heavily breathing Bruce Banner and stared with raised eyebrows at the now useless scraps of what used to be his phone. 

“Dammit! Natasha still won’t pick up!” 

Any other time Tony probably would have muttered a cocky “I told you so,” comment, but Bruce was already pretty close to the edge, and the edge was not an overly terrific place for Bruce Banner to be. His heart monitor started beeping again and he placed his head between his knees and worked on his deep breathing. Tony went over and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Uh, Bruce? Buddy?”

“Yes?” Bruce replied in a small voice.

“That was my phone.” 

It was quiet in the lab and then Bruce looked up over his glasses at his friend apologetically.

“Sorry, Tony.”

 “Um, it’s fine. I’ve got, like, a ton. I’m more worried about you. I know you said you need to find Clint, but you haven’t really explained why. And how come you don’t have your phone, anyway?”

“Clint has my phone—I mean he took it, I mean, yeah. I tried calling it too, but it went straight to voicemail. I just need to talk to him, Tony. How’s the tracking algorithm coming?”

“Not great, so I thought we’d try a different approach. I’ve pulled up the security footage from last night, the last time Clint was seen by the Tower’s cameras.”

 “Show me,” Bruce ordered, standing back up to face the monitors. Tony shrugged off his friend’s brusqueness and pressed enter. The screens showed blurry night footage of Clint as he was obviously sneaking into the garage, hopping into his SHIELD-issue car and speeding away. When they finished, Tony was worried Bruce was going to smash his keyboard next—without even Hulking out to do it.

Instead, he just turned to Tony with a determined look in his eye and asked to borrow another phone.

“I’m not sure that more _calling_ is such a good—“ 

Tony!” 

“Okay, fine, here.”

He watched as Bruce dialed a number and held the phone up to his ear as it rang.

“Hello! Yes, I’m looking for Clin—Agent Barton. Can you find out where he is right now?”

“You think he went to SHIELD?” Tony asked, and Bruce nodded as the person on the other end said something.

“Yes, Mhm. Thank you. Wait, he’s _what? He’s on a mission? That little cowa—_ Where the hell is his mission? _What do you mean you can’t disclose that information? Listen, you pencil-pushing piece of—“_

“Okay!” Tony said quickly, taking the phone from Bruce’s shaking fists. “I think that’s enough from Dr. Banner. Put Coulson on the line—Phil, whatever. Not there? Look, just tell him to call back when he can. Tell him Tony Stark said—“

Tony frowned and stared at the phone in his hand.

 “He hung up." 

Bruce had put his head between his knees again, which Tony didn’t think was a very good sign. He sighed and pounded one fist into the palm of his other hand. 

“Okay Bruce, new plan. I’m going to try even harder to help you find bird-butt because it’s clearly really important to you—even if you won’t tell me why, I’ll _assume_ it’s something important. You start trying to hack into SHIELD to get more information about this mysterious mission.”

Bruce nodded then Tony started sprinting up the stairs.

“Wait—Tony, where are you going?”

“To get us some backup!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Betty Ross had never liked science conferences. Every year the same egotistical scientists came and boasted about finding some new particle or finally a cure for the common cold. The worst was when Tony Stark came and decided he had to show off to prove to everyone that he was really the smartest one there. Not to mention Betty usually spent half the conference batting away potential suitors who seemed to care less about her discoveries and more about the fact that the female to male ratios in these types of places was disturbingly low. She’d always thought about wearing a fake wedding ring to keep them at bay but she doubted even that would have much effect.

She had decided to just stop going to the conferences she was invited to, but this year she couldn’t exactly refuse; she was presenting some of her newest findings on the largest stage of the convention on the main day. It was a huge honor and although Betty could have done without the conference itself she was pleased that her work was going to get such a wide audience.

She was also glad it was almost time for her to present. She was next, and if she was lucky that meant she could hop on a plane home by evening and be home for class the next day. She didn’t like leaving her students for too long. Switzerland was nice, but she didn’t feel like to staying any longer than she had to. 

The presenter before her finished with his conclusion and the audience clapped as one of her colleagues got up to introduce her. She hoped the powerpoint slides were in the right order. She didn’t want to be like Dr. Boerenski from last year’s conference. Her powerpoint was completely out of order and she’d panicked and started spouting off random facts before running off of the stage in tears; another strike against women in science. Betty was _not_ going to let that happen to her. She’d memorized her notecards and was bringing them up with her just in case. If the powerpoint _was_ wrong she could probably wing it and still manage to sound intelligent. 

She suddenly realized that everyone was clapping again and looking her way and quickly stood and hurried up to the podium, hopefully making it seem like she had been paying attention the whole time. She smiled and began the introduction, internally panicking about whether or not anyone would care about her research. Gamma radiation wasn’t the in-style science of the day like it had been five or ten years ago. Scientists could be so particular about science; sometimes Betty thought they were worse than the fashion industry.

Just as she clicked onto the second slide of the powerpoint and began explaining, the doors at the back of the room burst open. She stopped talking as half the room turned to look back at the men entering.

 She wasn’t sure which started first: the screaming or the shooting.

It was possible they both started at the same time, though after a few rounds from the guns everyone was deadly silent so they could hear one of the men shout,

“Everyone to the ground!”

Betty’s mind raced faster than she had thought possible. She saw the guns and the way the men were staring at her and put the pieces together before they even spoke; they were after her. She couldn’t get on the ground because then she couldn’t run and _she needed to run_.

They must have seen it in her eyes when she glanced fleetingly at the door to her right because she heard the one in the center shouting as she crashed through the door, slamming it behind her to slow her down. The rest of the people in the conference hall would be safer if she got away as soon as possible; not to mention that she would be safer the farther from those men she could get. She spun around a corner and saw another one who started after her as soon as she spotted him, firing bullets that hit the wall she had just turned around, her heart beating out of her chest as she continued running.

She knew she needed to get away, get to some place she could hide and wait for the police or someone to help her. She needed to try and get outside; the building was too compact, she was bound to run into those men again if she stayed inside. The main lobby spread in front of her as she heard them coming behind her. Her legs burned as she pushed herself to run across the large room and make it to the doors just as they reached the other side. She turned around momentarily to see their guns still pointed at her back. She wanted to scream but her voice was stuck in her throat and he brain kept telling her to keep doing one thing and one thing only: run.

She flew through the front doors and into the parking lot, skidding to a stop behind the first car she saw. She couldn’t have kept running if she wanted; her body was about to give out on her. She heard the doors open and their footsteps as they looked out over the parking lot. She kept her head low, praying, praying and praying. Her phone was still in her purse on the stage but she had no one to call anyway. She was alone in a foreign country and people were trying to kill her.

Betty had only ever been this frightened twice in her life and she really could have lived without a third.

“Go, find her! She can’t have gotten far.”

 She curled up into a ball, tears just breaking from her eyes as she heard their footsteps move closer. She could picture their guns held in their hands, aimed at her. She was going to die; killed for a reason she didn’t even know. Life wasn’t _fair._

The footsteps grew closer and she could hear them taking to one another; she couldn’t focus on what they were saying. One of them was just on the other side of the car she was hiding behind; she could practically feel him there and was shaking. She had nothing with which to defend herself but her fists, but she was damn willing to claw his eyes out if it might save her life.

She took a shaky breath, thinking that if she was going to do this she should at least have the element of surprise. Just as she was about to leap from behind the car she heard the _whiz_ zof something flying through the air and making impact, then a few more, and the next thing she heard was the dull thud of bodies crumpling effortlessly to the ground. She held her breath, standing slowly and peeking around the hood of the car.

“ _Arrows?”_ She asked breathlessly to no one. One single arrow was sticking proudly from the bodies of each of the men who had chased her. They were straight, deadly, and _purple_. Instinctively, she looked towards the direction the arrows came from, just in time to see a figure leap from the top of a building and gracefully reach the ground using windows, trees, and a telephone pole. The mysterious archer raced towards her and she suddenly realized that she might still be in danger.

“Who are you?” she asked as he approached her, face looking more annoyed than anything else.

He didn’t reply, just grabbed her arm and started pulling her quickly over to one of the tiny, European cars the environmental scientists liked to drive around to show off. He tried to push her inside the car but she pushed against him and refused to get in, glaring and asking loudly,

“Who are you? Where are we _going_?”

“I’m a SHIELD agent and I’m here to protect you. That’s all you need to know. There’s going to be more of those guys on their way—in fact I think I hear them now—so we need to high tail it out of here. Comprende?”

His eyes were blocked by his dark sunglasses. She looked into his face and bit her lip as she decided whether or not to trust him. Before she could really come to a decision she heard more gunfire behind her and slid into the passenger seat without another complaint.

Her mysterious savior raced around the driver’s side and leapt into the seat with acrobatic ease, pressing a strange button on a machine in his hand that started the engine and hurriedly put the car in drive, cursing through his teeth the whole time.

And Betty thought _science conferences_ were bad.

 

* * *

 

“ _This_ is our backup?”

“No, Thor, the big button makes a space. Hit the one that says Enter if you want to go to a new line, it’s much faster.”

“I see! This midgardian writing is not so difficult.”

“They were the best we had! I’ve got them working together studying the face recognition program in case Mr. Feathers shows up anywhere,” Tony replied Nothing he said made Bruce’s headache any less painful.

He was so _frustrated_! And angry. Well, a part of him was pretty much _always_ angry but now he was hurt and angry and the anger just kept building under his skin the more he thought it over the angrier he became and the more his head hurt and the louder that stupid beeping sounded in his ears—shit!

He glanced at his heart monitor on his wrist and swallowed, closing his eyes and tuning everything out, focusing on breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out.

The phone held tight in his palm suddenly started wringing. He pressed connect before he even looked to see who it was, hoping to hear Clint’s voice on the other end just so he knew the little jerk wasn’t messing with him like this on purpose. Instead he got Coulson.

“Dr. Banner?”

“Hi, yeah, I called earlier—“

“I was informed. You would like to know Agent Barton’s whereabouts.”

“Yes! Thank you Phil, I really owe—“

“I’m afraid I cannot reveal that information at this time.”

Bruce felt like the rug was suddenly pulled from under him. It was his fault for getting his hopes up, probably, but it still hurt.

“Coulson, please. I need to talk to him. It’s imperative—“

“I’m sorry, Dr. Banner. That isn’t possible at this time.”

“You don’t want to make me angry, Coulson.”

“That isn’t going to work, Bruce. Clint is on a mission; personal matters can wait. I don’t expect he’ll be gone too long.”

No one understood. Bruce didn’t need to talk to Clint _eventually_ —he needed to talk to Clint _now_! It was that simple. He growled in frustration and when Coulson spoke next it almost sounded as though he was amused, but surely that was just Bruce’s imagination.

“Believe me, Dr. Banner—Barton is probably having just as bad a time on his mission as you are trying to find him.”

He then hung up and Bruce felt, if possible, even worse than he had before. No one understood; the longer he put off talking to Clint the worse things were going to get. He didn’t want that to happen and he couldn’t believe or forgive Clint for running away after—after what had happened.

 

* * *

 

Betty was trying very hard not to panic. She was doing rather well; she thought she should be congratulated on how well she was maintaining calm after everything that had happened to her so far today. The mysterious SHIELD agent was driving the car, so she had time to breathe deep and try to reason her way through the situation.

“Okay,” She said, hands firmly placed on the dash of the small electrical car, hair messy and flying in her face. “Step one in remaining calm in a stressful situation: state what you know.”

She glanced at the man driving who pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and looked at her like she was an idiot, and began.

“Big, scary men with guns tried to kill me. Right, yes, I don’t like that part. That’s not helping with the stress. Let’s see… I was rescued by a mysterious SHIELD agent who has yet to give me his name—“

“Is that really helping, lady, or can you stop? Why do you know these dumb _steps for remaining calm in stressful situations_ anyway?”

“I—I learned them so I could help—A friend. I have a friend who doesn’t, um, do well in stressful situations.”

The agent seemed to find this amusing somehow, because he smiled for the first time since Betty had met him, though it faded quickly into a grimace that Betty couldn’t understand.

“So,” she asked, more confident around this quiet archer than before now that she knew he had at least a hint of a soft side. “You were sent by SHIELD to protect me. Why?”

His grimace deepened and he swerved around a corner, nearly sending Betty flying out of the tiny door before replying.

“Actually… they shouldn’t have given me this mission at all.” He muttered something else about “conflict of interests” and “payback” but she didn’t catch most of it because the road in front of them had suddenly become extremely crowded and his already erratic driving only got worse. She took a shuddering breath when the street widened and they continued at a more even pace, focusing her attention back just in time to hear him grumble,

“…and that damn Coulson just _knows_ —“

“But why were those men after _me_?” she asked impatiently because this guy clearly wasn’t grasping the seriousness of the situation. He didn’t even turn to her as he replied flatly,

“Your research. Those guys couldn’t let you reveal it or it’d ruin their plans.”

She frowned, slipping her hair back behind her ears and out of her face.

“No, but no one should know about my research. It’s classified. Only I know the full scale of—“

“SHIELD knows everything,” he cut her off briskly, frowning. She frowned right along with him, the adrenaline finally ebbing from her and letting her brain focus on what was important.

“I don’t trust SHIELD,” she replied stubbornly. “They’re part of the government and I don’t trust the government—and not for the reasons you think!"

“Look, I don’t trust them either, but there’s nothing you can do. You’d be dead without them.”

“I’d be dead without _you_ ,” she corrected, and he did smile faintly at that, though he tried not to let her see. He seemed to be avoiding her for some reason. He barely looked her way and all of his sentences were clipped and short. Somehow she didn’t think that was the way he normally acted. Maybe there was some protocol about interaction with a target he was supposed to follow or…

Wait.

Wait a moment.

“Wait,” she began slowly, her brain finally up to working capacity and putting the pieces together that had been right in front of her from the very beginning. “Wait, you’re a SHIELD agent… Who uses a bow and arrow instead of a gun… and you—“

His hands gripped the steering wheel tight and he absolutely refused to look her way as the final piece fit into place. Her eyes went wide as she pointed at him and exclaimed,

“You’re Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye and you’re not just a SHIELD agent…you are a founding member of the _Avengers_!”

He pulled the car over and slammed on the breaks so fast Betty felt her head spin.

“How do you know that? Half of that is classified information.”

She took several deep breaths, the sudden stop sent her pulse skyrocketing again, then turned on him and gaped, shock surging through her system.

“You—but you’re, you’re _Bruce’s_ —! And I’m his—!“

Clint stiffened at the name and surprised Betty once again by hitting the steering wheel with his fist and angrily muttering to himself,

“Dammit! He even told you about _that_? But we’d agreed—we’d had a—that damn—“ he groaned and hit the wheel again, this time with his forehead.

“Why was I targeted?” she demanded. No more messing around, she wanted _answers_. “Does this have to do with Bruce?”

He exhaled sharply from his nose and started the car again. She reached over the next second and turned it off before he could even move them a foot forward.

“We’re not going anywhere until you explain some things, Agent Barton.”

He glared but she held his gaze. They stayed that way for a few minutes, each one wondering who would break first, when Clint looked away with a curse, throwing his hands in the air.

“Yes! Fine, yes, it’s got to do with Bruce. Satisfied?”

“Tell me everything.”

He groaned and sunk into the driver’s seat, banging his head back against the headrest. She waited until he sat back up, frown firmly in place and teeth grinding together angrily.

“I’ll tell you what I know. Some people have gotten a hold of some of Bruce—Dr. Banner’s blood. They did something with it and now they want to release it into New York—the only thing that can stop it is the formula in your head: your research. Those men tried to kill you because they know that’s the only thing that can stop them. We,” he motioned between them, “need to get back to New York in time to stop them. Got it?”

It took a moment to sink in, but then Betty steeled herself and nodded. Clint nodded back and started the car again; this time she let him. He pulled back onto the street and after a moment of silent driving she said softly,

“I feel better.”

He didn’t reply. She glanced at him but he just continued staring out of the car window.

“Because you’re Bruce’s, um, friend. I know you’ll protect me.”

She got no reply, but his grip on the steering wheel seemed to loosen. The car filled with silence again, and she waited another few minutes before asking gently,

“Does Bruce know about this? That you’re here? With me?”

He didn’t reply.

 

* * *

 

_The day before…_

Bruce smiled fondly down at his cell phone as a text from Betty buzzed in. She was thanking him for his help with her research and he was halfway through typing out a reply when his phone was snatch effortlessly from his hands.

“Hey! Clint, _really_! Give that back,” he said, chasing after a grinning Clint who held his phone aloft tauntingly as he skipped around the corner. Bruce shook his head, smiling despite his better judgment as he chased after the phone-thief. He turned the corner to find Clint dangling the phone, held up by just two fingers.

“Come and get it,” he said, sticking his tongue out, and Bruce lunged at him, missing by just an inch as Clint dodged, slipping the phone into his pocket as he gracefully curled an arm around Bruce’s waist, pulling him tight and kissing the shell of his ear playfully.

Bruce felt his glasses fogging up. They had been doing this—whatever it was—for over three months now but Bruce had yet managed to get used to Clint’s gentle, surprising little kisses. Clint laughed as he fumbled to try and reach into the archer’s pockets and retrieve the phone, snapping up Bruce’s wrists and holding tight so he couldn’t escape. He pulled Bruce into a long, draining kiss until Bruce had all but forgotten about the phone or texting Betty at all.

When they pulled away both men were smiling at each other fondly. The mood was so perfect it was no surprise at all the words slipped from Bruce’s mouth the way they did, without him even bothering to think about what Clint’s reaction might be.

“I love you,” he breathed against Clint’s cheek.

He felt Clint stiffen right away. Bruce pulled away enough to see Clint’s face; his brows pinched and unhappy, not daring to look back at Bruce. He pulled away, smiling a tight, fake smile as he scratched at a half-healed wound running along his arm.

“Right, uh, sorry Bruce, I just remembered this thing—“

“Clint!” Bruce exclaimed, unsure whether to be hurt or angry—probably some strange combination of both.

Clint continued attempting to pull away but Bruce had a firm grip on his shirt and refused to let go as he said through clenched teeth,

“You can’t run away, Clint. We have to talk about this!”

“What?” Clint spat. “Talk about what? There’s nothing to talk about!”

Bruce gaped at him.

“You just want to ignore it? I never took you for a coward, Barton.”

Clint shot him a glare but dropped his gaze before it even made a real impact. All it really did was manage to make Bruce that much _angrier_.

“Clint, I—I know you didn’t want to tell anyone in the beginning, but it’s been so long and we—we’ve been getting closer, so I just thought—“

“We agreed we weren’t going to tell anyone. Jesus, Bruce, it was going _fine_! It was fine the way it was, without complications and—“

“ _Complications_!” Bruce cried. “I tell you I love you and you call that _complications!_ Clint, I want us to take our relationship to the next level. I thought—I thought you would want that too!”

“I never said that,” Clint replied brusquely through his teeth. He still wouldn’t catch Bruce’s eye and Bruce could feel his blood pressure rising. His heart monitor would probably start beeping any second now.

“Then what the hell have we been doing, Clint? Wanna tell me that? Was it all for nothing?”

“No, of course—“

And there went the beeping, and the pressure started building underneath Bruce’s skin and at the front of his skull. Clint’s eyes went wide and he took a step closer.

“Bruce, no, can we just— _dammit_! Can’t we just go back to a few minutes ago? Can you—“

“No!” Bruce yelled. “We can’t—I _can’t!_ I have to go. I can’t, I can’t stay here right now.” He started walking away, thinking about his deep breathing and calming techniques as he called back angrily, “We’re going to talk about this later, Clint. I’m not done with you!"

As soon as he was gone, Clint slammed his fist against the wall, nearly breaking his fist in the process.

“Dammit!” he cursed. He had fucked everything up—but it wasn’t his fault! Bruce had caught him by surprise with the—the thing he’d said. Clint wasn’t the kind of guy who _committed_. He thought he had explained that clearly when he and Bruce first got together, but apparently not.

Oh, and Bruce was _pissed_. Clint’s stomach turned. He didn’t want to talk about this later. He didn’t want to talk about it _ever_. He needed to get away for while, let this cool down—let _Bruce_ cool down.

He could go on a mission. He nodded to himself, already heading upstairs to grab his stuff. He would just go to SHIELD and request a last-minute mission. Coulson never asked too many questions, and he was always bugging Clint to do more missions instead of lazing around the Avengers tower with Bruce and Tony. “ _Steve and Natasha go on missions_ ,” he would say.

Well, fine, Clint would take a damn last-minute mission and no one had to know it was because he was running away. Not that he was. He was just… delaying. There was nothing cowardly about it.

He still tried not to be seen as he snuck down to the garage and hopped in his car, speeding out towards the nearest SHIELD base.

He was on a flight to the frigid snowy mountains before he even had a chance to register that bad gut feeling he got whenever he felt like he was making the wrong choice. He never realized he still had Bruce’s phone stashed away in his pocket.

 

* * *

 

“We’ve got him! Banner, we have _got him_!”

Bruce’s head spun around so fast it should have flown right off. Tony’s grin stretched from ear to ear as Bruce rushed over to the computer Steve was sitting in front of that had a digital, 3D map of the earth spread over their heads. A blue line swept over the face of the earth, scanning as the smaller screen lower down worked the tracking algorithm and counted down to completion. 

Tony grasped his shoulder, grinning.

“Told you I’d find bird-head, didn’t I? Never doubt Tony Stark.”

“Its pinpointed Clint to the continent of Europe so far…” Steve said cautiously, watching the screen as it zoomed in from the earth to Europe. Bruce tried to fight the sudden urge to smash something; the Other Guy was apparently drifting over to his regular life as well. Beside Steve, Thor was watching some news video on Yahoo.

“Can’t it track any faster?” Bruce asked, fingers twitching as he tapped the back of Steve’s chair anxiously. He was _so close_ and his patience was almost out.

“Hey!” Tony replied. “It’s tracking plenty quickly. Patience is a virtue, Brucey.”

Steve snorted and rolled his eyes.

“You’re one to talk.”

Tony replied with something that apparently offended Cap’s old time values and they began a familiar round of playful bickering as the tracker continued it’s work, the computer whirring away until finally the large map zoomed in yet again on a specific country. Bruce didn’t even wait to see where in this country Clint was, just threw his arms in the air, angry at himself for being even a little bit surprised that Clint was as far away as he was.

“Switzerland! What the _hell_ is that damn archer doing in Switzerland of all places?”

He wasn’t sure who was listening to him but he continued ranting, trying to decide what to do from this point. He could go to Switzerland; he had half a mind to do it, even if it did ruin Clint’s mission. He sort of wanted to ruin it, at least that would make him feel a bit better.

He still couldn’t believe Clint had actually run away. After he specifically said _not_ to, that he wanted to talk about it more, Clint still ran away. Bruce tried not to think about how it hurt—the anger was a far more familiar emotion to focus on. Just as he was building himself up to ask Tony to borrow his jet, Steve interrupted softly, a worried frown on his face.

“Hey… Bruce. I think you might want to see this…”

Confused and not really interested, Bruce turned to Thor’s computer screen, where Steve had been pointing. The news was still on, and Tony silently turned it up as Bruce read the tagline quickly to himself.

“An attack on a Scientific Conference in Switzerland today set the scientific community on red alert. Suspected target Elizabeth Ross, who was set to present her most recent research on the main stage of the conference, appeared to have made it out of the conference room and was last seen leaving the center. No word on the mysterious archer who shot the attackers as they exited the building, but some kind of car chase took place not much later in downtown that—“

“Oh my god, Betty,” Bruce gasped, worry flooding his mind as he thought about her being held at gunpoint and scared out of her mind. “They said she managed to get away though, right? But wait, she’s in Switzerland too. That’s such a strange coincidence.”

“Bruce…” Tony said gently, eye wide and posture tense. When Bruce glanced from him to Steve he noticed that his body language and face was similar.

For some reason the synapses in his brain just weren’t firing. He stared, confused at his friends for a whole minute before it finally clicked. He froze as thought his entire brain shut down.

“Betty… is with Clint. Right now. In Switzerland.”

“Bruce, don’t panic,” Tony warned gently.

“My Betty. And my… Clint is with Betty. Betty, with Clint. _Switzerland_ —“

The beeping started and Bruce hadn’t moved an inch. He kept repeating it over and over, hands and eyes twitching at the thought— _the thought_ —Oh, god, Betty and Clint talking, and everything he told Betty, and Clint, and—

“Steve, tranquilize him! _Now_!”

“Yeah!”

And then everything just went black—whether that was from the tranquilizer or becoming the Other Guy, Bruce didn’t think he wanted to ever find out.

 

* * *

 

“Here, you’re in charge of directions. Tell me where I’m going.”

The electronic map landed in Betty’s lap and Clint’s eye didn’t leave the road in front of him. The town they were driving through was having some sort of market and traffic was a nightmare; both Betty and Clint were on edge as their car crept through the town as if they expected to be shot at again any moment. Betty wished Clint would say something and had been startled when he suddenly tossed the map at her and told her to read it. At first it seemed not to be working, but after she experimented and pressed a few buttons the map appeared and displayed the route they needed to follow to reach the airport that she had flown into town at.

“The airport? But—I don’t have my passport, or my—my—ID or _anything_!”

“It’s fine,” he said gruffly. “SHIELD can get us on any flight we need, and we _need_ to be on the next flight out of here and heading to New York, which happens to be leaving in less than 45 minutes. There’s an intersection up here, which way am I going?”

She started giving him directions then noticed some commotion in her rear-view mirror. The people who had been mindlessly browsing the marketplace began running from the crowded streets to make way for a car that was speeding ever closer to where she and Clint were waiting for a light to change.

“Cliiint!” She said, turning around to watch the car blow past the people, obviously coming straight for them.

Clint turned around, cursed, and stepped on the gas the second the first bullet hit the back of the little car.

Betty screamed and covered her head as Clint turned them down a wider street, dodging people and vendors and cursing with every turn of the wheel. Betty recovered her senses quickly enough to yell at Clint that they were now going the wrong way and he needed to turn around.

“Well, what the hell do you want me to do, they’re _shooting at us!_ ”

“We’re going to miss the flight if we go this way! Didn’t you say the fate of the people of New York depended on us reaching—“

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, just tell me where to go!”

“Left _now!”_

He spun the car around the corner as more shots were fired after them, lurching Betty’s body over the armrest as she ducked to avoid the bullets again. As soon as they were around the corner she refocused on the map, giving directions as fast as she could though the sound of the other car wasn’t far behind.

“Another left!”

“Turning left!”  
  
“Now right, _I mean left!_ ”

“ _Make your mind up, woman!”_

“Right, right! Go right!”

“ _This isn’t even a street! What the hell is wrong with you?”_

“I can’t concentrate with them shooting at me!” She screeched as Clint wove the small car in between bikers and pedestrians on the road that really wasn’t a road at all; it was barely an alley. Clint had nearly run over three people and a sheep by the time they made it back onto a real street, and he and Betty had been screaming the entire time; her because she kept thinking he was going to crash and him because he said her screaming was going to _make_ him crash.

“Which way do I go—which way?”

“I can’t read it, I can’t see, I—“ She replied frantically, dropping the map at her feet and then struggling to retrieve it as the car went around another dangerously close bend.

“What the hell happened to all those steps for remaining calm in stressful situations, huh?” Clint yelled back at her.

Bullets ricocheted off the back of the car again and Betty finally lost it.

“ _Aaaaaargh_!” She yelled, reaching over and grabbing the gun strapped to Clint’s leg—“ _hey_!”—then hoisting half of her body out the window and shooting back at the car that was right behind them, screaming her head off the whole time.

“ _Stop!”_ BANG. “ _Shooting!”_ BANG. “ _At!”_ BANG. BANG. BANG. “ _Me!_ ”

She managed to blow a hole in the window and in the front left tire of the car chasing them, making whoever was driving skid from the road and into a car parked near the sidewalk.

“Ha HA!” she cried triumphantly, taking a moment to let her victory sink in before sliding calmly back into the car.

She took a deep breath and glanced at Clint. His hands were holding onto the wheel only loosely as he gaped at her, expression dumbfounded. Betty glanced out of the front window and grabbed the wheel just in time for them to not crash into a small group of very frightened tourists.

“Watch the road!” She yelled, and he snapped back and stared out the window again, though his mouth still hung open in shock. After a minute of silent driving he let out a choked laughing sound, a faint grin just barely spreading on his lips.

“What?” she demanded nervously.

“Nothing,” he replied. She kept staring at him and finally he glanced her way and chuckled from his throat.

“It’s just—I can see why Bruce likes you.”

His voice was so honest that it took Betty aback for a moment. By the time she’d thought of a reply, he pointed to a sign ahead of them with a picture of an airplane and changed lanes to drive underneath it.

“We’re here.”

* * *

 

They parked the borrowed car as close to the entrance as possible; it didn’t matter if they got a parking ticket if they weren’t coming back. Clint pulled Betty aside as soon as they entered the airport building, leaning in close and whispering in her ear cautiously,

“Don’t panic. There’s a good chance there are more waiting for us here. They won’t cause a scene with so many security guards around, but they’ll be watching us. We’ve got to stay calm and try to blend in so they won’t notice us.”

Betty took a deep breath and nodded, straightening her hair and shirt and trying to look as relaxed as possible; quite a task considering the day she’d had. Clint, who had stashed his bow and arrows in a small bag he carried with him, took a light hold of Betty’s arm and led her through the airport. She didn’t miss how his eyes darted behind his sunglasses every few seconds. It reminded her of something Bruce had said when he was first describing Clint to her over the phone.

_“He sees everything, Betty! It really is like he’s got the eyes of a hawk!”_

_Bruce had laughed at that, and Betty could tell from that very moment how much he cared about this Clint Barton guy. Not that she let on that she knew; Bruce would tell her in time, and eventually he did. Bruce told her that Clint was always teasing him, messing with him._

_“He’s almost worse than Tony, I swear.”_

_But from his tone she could tell that he didn’t mind either Clint’s or Tony’s teasing. She knew how long it had been since Bruce could relax around people; to call people friends._

_“Betty… The—the Other Guy… He likes Clint too.” He sounded almost in awe, and Betty had wanted to cry for him, because finally he’d found a home. “Calls him Cupid. Weird, huh? Haha…”_

Watching Clint now, she could see all those things that Bruce had gone on about. She saw it in his eyes, every little thing that he noticed registering in his head. She really did feel like she could relax; some part of her trusted that Clint would keep her safe—no matter what.

They were uneasy as they approached security. Clint had flashed a tall, black-haired man with sunglasses some card that she didn’t see clearly and he escorted them wordlessly through the airport until they reached the terminal of the flight that would let them travel to New York. The mysterious SHIELD agent and Clint nodded to each other and left Betty and Clint alone at the gate. They had to wait for the plane to board and Clint was obviously anxious the entire time. His fingers tapped his leg and his hand didn’t move more than three feet from the bag with his bow and arrow inside. It seemed a little strange; he wasn’t nearly as panicked when they were being shot at.

Eventually Betty decided to take a chance and ask gently,

“Um, are you… alright?”

He glanced at her then looked away again.

“I’m fine. Why?”

“You just seem a little on edge. Are you worried about the people following us?”

“No,” he shrugged. “I identified those guys as soon as we sat down. That guy over there, and the man next to him, and the woman a few rows behind us.”

Betty was startled and impressed that he’d figured out who was after them so quickly. The people he’d pointed out seemed perfectly normal to her. He hesitated on the next thing he said and his nervous tapping returned.

“I just didn’t think I’d be going home so soon.”

“Don’t you want to go home?”

“Not really,” he admitted glumly.

“But why not?” she asked, curiously confused. “You’ll get to see Bruce and—and the others.” She added hastily when he flinched violently at the sound of Bruce’s name.

“Sorry!” she said when Clint made no move to reply. “I probably shouldn’t have assumed. Are things... okay, between the two of you? Do you want to talk about—“

“Please begin boarding now,” a pleasant but slightly accented voice said over a loudspeaker.

Clint was standing and pulling her to her feet before she could finish the sentence and as they waited in line to board the plane she could hear him grinding his teeth as he glared at the wall in front of him. They finally boarded and found their seats; Clint stuffed their one bag underneath his feet as the flight attendants readied the plane for takeoff.

Betty watched the two men and woman Clint said were after them take their seats and stare silently anywhere but her direction. She swallowed and closed her eyes, trying to go over what she knew one more time.

Someone had Bruce’s DNA. They’d done something bad with it and were planning on spreading it through the city. Clint was taking her there to stop it. People were trying to kill her because she was the only one with the research to stop it. She thought about her formula again, comforted by the clear science of it. Science was easy; dealing with all the other insanity was hard.

And apparently something was going on between Bruce and Clint. Bruce didn’t know Clint was on this dangerous mission. She wondered how he would react to finding out the two of them were together; it wasn’t exactly an ideal situation for him. Then again, it wasn’t exactly an ideal situation for anyone.

“What the hell…?” Clint muttered—the first thing he’d said since before boarding the plane. Betty opened her eyes and turned to see him digging into his pocket and then pull out a cell phone.

He stared at it blankly for a moment then seemed to remember something. He started to smile, and then it faded just as quickly as it had come and he was grimacing, clutching the phone tight in his fist. He groaned and let his head fall into his hands.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” he murmured.

Betty gently placed her hand on his shoulder, forgetting for a moment the imminent danger they were in and focusing solely on Clint. The plane was in the air; it was too late to turn back now.

“Whose phone is it?” She asked, though she already knew the answer. She wasn’t sure if Clint was going to tell her at first, then he sighed and sat up, staring fondly at the battered cell in his hand.

“Bruce’s. I stole it from him right before we had this—this _stupid_ argument.”

She nodded and he continued.

“It was my stupid fault, I know that. We don’t—didn’t usually argue, and I used to think that was because I had this whole _plan_ or whatever. See, we weren’t supposed to tell anyone about us. But Bruce… he wanted to tell people and he said—"

He swallowed thickly.

“I was a coward. I didn’t react the right way and I made him mad—“

She gasped and he added quickly,

“Not! Not that mad! Don’t worry. He said he needed to get away from me for a little while to cool down, but that we would talk about it later. And I—I panicked. I didn’t want to talk about it later, so I—“

“You came on this mission,” she said helpfully, and he nodded.

“Thought I’d let him cool down some more, but I think I need to go back and face him.” He laughed humorlessly. “Maybe you should just go back instead. I’m sure he’d be a lot happier to see you.”

“I don’t know about that, Clint,” she muttered lightly. “You don’t know how he talks about you.”

He looked up at her with wide eyes and she smiled; he had turned from deadly assassin to lovesick schoolboy in less than five minutes.

“I don’t know everything about you and Bruce’s relationship,” she said, “but I know that he cares for you enough to work this out. He’ll understand why you ran away. He’s surprisingly forgiving, a total softy at heart.”

Clint smiled fondly.

“I know,” he replied. “I’m—I’m still nervous though. I don’t know what I’m going to say.” He glanced at her apologetically and added, “Sorry. You probably don’t want to hear this kind of stuff from your ex boyfriend’s boyfriend."

She laughed.

“Are you really worried about _that_? Look Clint, Bruce and I aren’t like that anymore. Honestly! We’re just friends and I’m happy for him—happy for _you_!”

“You don’t even know me,” he rolled his eyes.

“Clint, we’ve just been in a car chase together, running for our lives. I think I can say we’re friends now.”

He grinned at her.

“Funny. I seem to make a lot of friends when I’m running for my life.”

She laughed and he smiled and she hoped maybe she helped him out just a little bit. He stared at the phone again with a complicated expression then sighed and turned it off, telling her that the power was almost dead which was why it was buzzing and beeping in his pocket a few moments before. It wasn’t that surprising it had run out of battery life after having been flown halfway around the world.

They settled into their seats as the flight continues. After about an hour, Betty decided she needed to use the restroom. Clint seemed absorbed in thought, staring out the window, so she quietly unbuckled and headed towards the back of the plane.

Just as she opened the small, sliding restroom door and stepped out, she felt two hands come up and cover her mouth, pulling her back inside the restroom. She struggled, her yells muffled by the hands of what Betty assumed were the woman’s because her nails were painted a dark, greyish blue. Betty kicked and struggled and there were moments when she thought she would get away, but the woman kept her still.

Suddenly the bathroom door sprung open and Clint was there, his eyes fiery and dangerous, and the woman released Betty to defend against Clint. Betty flattened herself against the wall as the two trained assassins attacked each other within the confined airplane bathroom. They were both silent, unwilling to alert anyone else on board of the danger. Finally Clint got the upper hand, holding onto the woman in a similar way she had been holding Betty. He had something in his hand, a packet, and it broke against the woman’s nose. She breathed it in and as soon as she did collapsed against Clint. He sighed, breathing heavily.

“Is she… dead?” Betty asked in a small voice.

“No,” Clint sniffed. “Just asleep. She’ll stay that way for a day at least, someone her size. Come on, help me get her back to her seat.”

Together, Betty and Clint brought the woman back to her seat. When a few passengers gasped in shock Clint simply smiled and said that she’d fallen asleep on the toilet. When they returned to their seats, Betty chanced a slight glance at the other two men who had been sent to kill her. Their posture was stiff and their faces masks of rage. She shuddered and Clint leaned over to whisper in her ear,

“As soon as the plane lands and the doors open, _run_. Don’t think about the passengers or the security. Just run.”

She closed her eyes, swallowed thickly, and nodded.

 

* * *

 

When Bruce awoke he found that he was still down in the lab. Apparently after Steve had knocked him out he’d laid him down on the cot in the corner of the lab that Tony sometimes crashed on if he was too exhausted to even make it up the stairs. Tony hadn’t used it in a while though, because every time Steve came down to find Tony babbling sleepy nonsense at his machines, Steve forced Tony to come upstairs and get some sleep; once, he’d physically carried Tony up the stairs in a fireman’s hold because Tony wasn’t cooperating. Clint had teased Tony about that for weeks.

Bruce groaned when he thought about Clint. Everything was still a little blurry but he remember that the reason he’d needed to be knocked out in the first place had something to do with his favorite archer.

“Should we keep him out?” he heard a voice murmur from the other side of the room. It sounded like Steve but he couldn’t be sure. “He should know about this.”

“And what do you think he’d do if he knew? He’d hulk out on the spot on trample his way down Main Street until he got to JFK.”

“The flight should be landing any minute, Tony. We need to think of a plan!”

“Guys?” Bruce said, gently sitting up on the edge of the cot and holding his pounding head in his hand.

“Ah! Man of science and anger, you have awakened!” Thor’s voice boomed in Bruce’s ear. A moment later he felt gigantic hands grip his arm to help him stand. He stood still and blinked until his vision focused enough to see Thor beside him and Steve and Tony looking nervously at each other as they stood in front of the large computer screen.

“What happened?” he asked as Thor helped him walk slowly over to where the others were standing.

“We had to tranq you, Buddy. You were gonna go green on us,” Tony explained as Bruce leaned against a desk to maintain his balance. No matter how many times he’d been tranquilized, he never got used to waking up afterwards.

“Where’s Clint?” Bruce asked, glancing between Tony and Steve anxiously. “Did you find him?”

Steve stiffened and refused to catch Bruce’s eye and Tony bit his lip. Bruce looked up at Thor who also seemed slightly uncomfortable.

“Well?” he demanded.

“You’re not gonna freak out, right?”

“Why would I? _What happened_?”

“Nothing!” Steve said pacifyingly. “Nothing happened, Bruce. It’s just—“ he glanced and Tony and took a deep breath. “Clint is on his way here. His plane’s about to land.”

Bruce scowled.

“Betty?” he asked, because he’d just remembered. He had to focus not to let his blood pressure skyrocket again thinking about Clint and Betty in the same place at the same time. “Is Betty with him?”

“As far as we know, yeah. They boarded the plane together and that’s the last visual we had on them.”

Tony cleared his throat and took that moment to butt in,

“I figured out which plane he was boarding as soon as the security cameras from the airport registered him there. We still don’t really know _why_ , but Clint and Betty are flying from Switzerland to New York right now.”

“And you said—you said the planes about to land?” Bruce asked.

Just as he said this, something popped up on the large screen behind them and started buzzing like some kind of alarm system. Tony instantly bent over his keyboard.

“What happened?” Bruce asked patiently, trying not to panic. Tony’s fingers zoomed across the keyboard as he replied brusquely,

“The plane landed. Hold on, I’m, like, two seconds away from bringing up the—“

The screens above changed and suddenly there was video from the inside of the airport. Bruce quickly identified two figures running through the terminal as Clint and Betty.

“—security camera footage from inside JFK. Wait, is that them? Why the hell are they running?”

“Someone’s shooting at them!” Steve said, pointing a ways behind where Clint and Betty were, at another two figures following close behind, each with guns held out and clearly shooting at the latter. “Clint needs backup! Tony, suit up and fly me down—“

Tony had to continuously change cameras because Betty and Clint were running so quickly down the main terminal hallway. Bruce watched in horror as they skid around the corner and blew past security, their pursuers right on their tail. He didn’t realize how quickly he was breathing, just that Clint and Betty were in _danger_.

He watched as they made it into the check-in area of the airport, ducking behind baggage claim as the two men after them shot some more. The camera was at an angle so Bruce could see the way Clint’s arm was bent protectively around Betty as he yelled something to her. She nodded and started running for the door, Clint close on her heels.

Then, everything froze. The video seemed to be in slow motion; Clint and Betty running, just inches from the exit, when suddenly Clint crumpled and Betty was screaming—Bruce knew she was even though he couldn’t hear her—and everything went red.

Bruce was screaming too, and it was too late for Steve or Tony to tranq him—he was already half green and all rage. Clint had been shot _. His Clint_ had been _shot._

That was the last thing Bruce thought before it was all the Other Guy.

 

* * *

 

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

“ _Ow, ow, fuck, damn, hell, OW!_  I’m fine, it’s just my arm. Shit, I’m not gonna be able to shoot for a week!”

“A _week_?” Betty said, astounded. “You’ve been, _shot_ , Clint!”

“Seriously, it’s fine. The bullet went clean through, it’d be worse if it were still in there. Plus, did you see the look on that guy’s face when the security guard tackled him?”

“It doesn’t look good,” she said anxiously, ignoring his lighthearted comment.

“It’ll be fine, just hurry up and wrap it up to stop the bleeding.”

“You shouldn’t be driving like this Clint—stop moving—you need to stay still for a minute.”

“We don’t have— _ow_ —time! We need to be at this address in less than five minutes. SHIELD base is sending that shitty map annoying little warnings and apparently they’re planning on releasing the chemical soon. They’re trying to— _shit, be a little gentle, dammit—_ beat you to it because they didn’t manage to kill you.”

“ _If you would stop moving this would be a lot easier, Clint_!”

“I’m driving a car!” He yelled back, foot pressing down on the gas and accelerating them into downtown traffic. His teeth were set and hands clenched on the wheel as Betty worked beside him to stop the bullet wound from bleeding. As soon as she finished Clint was snapping at her again.

“Look at the map again. Am I going the right way?”

“It should be just around the corner.”

“Where?”

“That building, see, there!”

He saw it and took a sharp left down the street it was on, but traffic was moving even slower now. He honked the horn impatiently and then he was unbuckling himself and heaving out of the car. Betty followed close behind. They ran down the sidewalk until they reached the large, impressive factory-style building and Clint threw open the doors.

Two men attacked them right away. Working to keep Betty out of the way, Clint fought them off, ignoring the pain in his arm. It barely took a minute and they were down. He ignored Betty’s impressed look and started running with her towards the stairs that the map showed would lead them to the machine Betty needed to input her formula into, as well as readjust the output factors and—

That was when he heard it. Betty recognized it the moment he did and she stopped in her tracks, looking back at the door.

“Bruce,” she whispered as the thundering, crashing sounds of the Hulk’s running drew ever closer. Clint swallowed just as Steve ran in front of the door.

“Cap!” Clint managed to yell, and Steve’s head jerked around, eyes widening when he saw Clint. He skidded to a halt, said something into his comm, he then sped towards Clint.

“Clint! Thank god, you’re okay—“

“We don’t have time, Steve. I need your help.”

“Bruce needs to see you, he needs to know you’re okay or he’s not gonna stop—“

“I know! I’ll deal with Bruce, you help Betty!” He turned to her. “Betty, this is Steve. Steve, Betty.”

And then he ran and just heard Steve’s shy, “Ma’am,” before he was out the door, following the destruction that could only be caused by Hulk. He saw Tony zoom by above him and stop when he recognized Clint.

“Help Steve!” Clint called up at him, and heard the familiar, metallic reply,

“On it,” before Tony landed and headed after Betty and Cap inside the building. Clint saw lightning a street away and started running, thinking about nothing else but getting to Bruce; he _had_ to get to Bruce. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he got there, but Clint never had a plan. He wasn’t worried about it.

He saw Thor first, floating in the sky and pelting Hulk with lightning to try and distract him. Hulk was having none of it, taking Thor’s bait. He was heading single-mindedly towards the airport, seeming only vaguely annoyed by the lightning. Thor saw Clint first, before Hulk, and stopped throwing lightning to wave at Clint and motion towards Hulk.

“I know!” Clint yelled, though Thor probably wouldn’t be able to hear him.

But apparently the Hulk could.

He stopped in his tracks, big green back spinning around faster than someone that large should be capable of, and his eyes locked onto Clint right away. Thor flew away, hopefully to help Steve and Tony, and Clint stood rooted to the spot.

He could hear the growl that came low from Hulk’s chest from a block away, but he didn’t run or cower or even blink. He stayed standing in the middle of the street, not moving an inch, even when the Hulk angrily shook his head and started barreling back towards him. It took him about 30 seconds to reach Clint and in that time Clint had only swallowed once and winced at the pain in his arm.

The Hulk came to a loud and sudden stop right in front of him. Clint felt the air from Hulk’s running billow around him and he made himself look up into the Hulk’s eyes, black with rage, but familiar. Clint didn’t look away as the Hulk stared at him, breathing heavily.

Then, suddenly, Hulk reached out one large hand, curled it around Clint’s body and lifted him up so they were face to face. Clint didn’t struggle against Hulk’s hold; he knew it wouldn’t do any good. He looked back into Hulk’s eyes and all of the sudden recognized an emotion a little like _hurt_ there.

“Cupid ran away!” Hulk growled lowly, sadly, accusingly.

Clint closed his eyes took a deep breath, and when he opened them he knew what he needed to say.

“I did run away, Bruce, and I’m sorry.”

Hulk kept looking at him and Clint went on.

“I’m a coward, and an idiot, and I am so, _so_ sorry.”

Clint readied himself, took another deep breath, and smiled up at Hulk as he finally said,

“And Bruce… I love you, too.”

Hulk’s eyes grew wide. Clint held his breath as the giant holding him blinked, then slowly, slowly began to shrink. He let Clint go and Clint stood just in time to catch a half-naked Bruce who groaned wearily as he collapsed in Clint’s arms.

“I got you,” Clint muttered, as Bruce blearily opened his eyes. He smiled at Clint, muttered something unintelligible, and promptly passed out in the archer’s arms. Clint smiled, held him close, and gently kissed the top of his head as Bruce slept peacefully in the middle of the street.

 

* * *

 

Clint watched their conversation from afar, stretching his wounded arm to assess the damage. Betty laughed and gripped Bruce’s shoulder. He smiled brightly at her and Clint rolled his eyes. Bruce looked a little dumb in the clothes they’d found for him; namely, a worn leather jacket. He still had on his shredded pants and had to keep holding them up or they would fall straight to the ground.

Betty suddenly gave Bruce a hug, pulling him in tight. She said something quietly in his ear and suddenly he was blushing. She pulled away from the hug and winked, walking away from him before he could do anything but stutter excuses.

Clint was surprised when she walked right up and stopped in front of him, grinning down at him broadly. He raised an eyebrow curiously.

“So,” he said flatly. “I guess we did it. You were pretty great, Betty. Especially when you shot at that car. You might wanna think about becoming a SHIELD agent. There might even be a spot on the Avengers for somebody like you.”

She rolled her eyes but continued smiling. Suddenly she had him in a hug too. He hadn’t expected it, but when it became clear she wasn’t letting go he hugged her back, smiling despite himself. When she pulled away she motioned to his arm.

“Take care of that arm, Clint. Try not to get shot anymore. And… take care of Bruce, obviously.”

“You sure you don’t wanna do that yourself?” he asked, and instantly wished he had a better brain-to-mouth filter because she shook her head at him and pushed him lightly, replying like she was talking to an idiot,

“You’re not getting rid of him that easily, Clint. You _love_ him remember?”

He blushed and silently wondered what Bruce _didn’t_ tell Betty about their relationship. All of the sudden she started digging in her pockets for something. She glanced back at Bruce who was talking to Steve, and slyly slipped something into Clint’s hand. He silently questioned what it was she gave him.

Betty Ross looked truly embarrassed for the first time since Clint had met her. She cleared her throat.

“Those—um, they keep him from Hulking out for a couple of hours. You know, so you can…” She trailed off, staring at Clint shyly. When he seemed not to understand to what she was referring she cleared her throat again, looking anywhere but at him as she added hastily,

“So he won’t Hulk out when you’re having sex, there, I said it! I’m not actually sure how you were getting around it before but—“

Clint grinned at her, laughing as she stared at him, curious and blushing.

“Oh, that!” he said, still chuckling. “We figured a way around that ages ago!”

“What?” She asked, and Clint’s grin widened.

“Well,” he replied, waving fondly in Bruce’s direction then slipping his hands easily into his pockets. He was still grinning at Betty’s bemused expression when he winked and said cheerfully,

 _“The Hulk likes_ Cupid _about as much as Bruce does.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for Lily for editing and putting up with my whining about this fic. XD  
> Hope everyone who read liked it!


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